


The Pits

by Delirious21



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Dubious Consent, F/M, Fluff, Forced Prostitution, Gladiators, Gore, M/M, Other, Past Sexual Assault, Pre-Canon, Pre-War, Rape/Non-con Elements, Recovery, Revolution, Slavery, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:49:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 20
Words: 18,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24433114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delirious21/pseuds/Delirious21
Summary: In which a gladiator earns his name and an archivist earns his trust. Follows Megatronus through his journey of Iacon and the Pits where he endures and learns to thrive through spilt energon and adrenaline. When he meets a small Orion Pax, he is completely enamored but Primus never was in his favor.
Relationships: Megatron/Orion Pax, Megatronus/Orion Pax
Comments: 49
Kudos: 70





	1. Preface

He was born into chaos, blind and screaming, covered in a stranger’s energon. The mech who birthed him died alone; no sire, no family, abandoned in the underground railways of a flourishing Cybertron. Megatronus’ master would eventually find the tape from that day in hopes of inspiring rage. It was foolish of the old noble to assume such rage didn’t already consume the young mech. Branded since birth, forced to work in filthy, harrowing conditions for the smallest penny, whipped and beaten, alone. . . it seemed as if his life only served to make him more dangerous: more valuable. 


	2. Chapter 2

“Sit,” the noble barked. She cast a disgusted glance at her living property and disappeared inside where a stranger spoke of shanix and Iacon.

The silver mech sat obediently on the foot of the porch, optics downcast. Even Cybertron’s suns, healthy and gleaming, couldn’t warm him. He’d worked long enough on the oil farm and mine to know that his time was up. Manual labor had sculpted his frame over the years, and although he was still young, he could lift more and work longer than the full-grown mechs. Yet he was defiant, always fighting his masters and the other farmhands or hiding and distributing contraband. Sometimes he got the whip because his optics shone too bright or he saw something he wasn’t supposed to see. 

But this was it, his day to leave. There’d been talk going around about a bigshot from the gladiatorial recruitment office buying the strongest and hardiest mechs they could find. It wasn’t until the silver mech was loaded into a transportation cell and the fields faded out the back window. Or maybe it didn’t set in until an identification barcode was ironed into his jaw and he was pushed out onto a stage.

The fluorescent lights were blinding and the room stank of wax and energon. There were already six other mechs and femmes lined up on the stage, staring blankly out over the muttering mass. Some nobles in the audience pointed, others leaned closer to examine scars and joints. The mech burned with something more potent than rage and his fists balled at his sides to keep from closing around the nearest throat. He’d never hurt someone intentionally, but here he was, glaring down hundreds of pompous nobles, all with their shiny plates and smooth, thin necks. How easy they would be to snap. And he almost did it, almost lurched from the stage and killed the first mech he touched, desperate to escape the auction, even if he must die to do so. 

But the shaking mech next to him touched his wrist and they stood like that while prices were shouted and, one by one, they were all bought. The silver mech didn’t realize how comforting those slim digits had been until they were gone. A new collar, polished and sleek, was snapped in place around his neck and a lanky bot yanked the leash until he followed. There were few words, and the young mech faltered when they left the building and were met by a million blinding lights. They were in the sky and on the ground, all pressing in closer and closer, but when he growled, they shrunk away. 

The mech tugging him along laughed aloud and shouted, “Isn’t he dashing? Let’s hope he survives longer than the last handsome piece of aft I bought!” 

A cheer rang out somewhere behind the flashing lights and the silver mech tried to catch sight of its source but he was loaded into a sleek transport vehicle. The voices were muted by the slammed door. The vehicle smelled of lemon cleaner and sparkling engex. He hunched over but the mech with his leash yanked it upward.

“Now, now,” he started, “Posture is very important.” He gave his new toy a slimy grin as they headed deeper into Iacon City. “You know, I think you’re going to make me a pretty penny in the ring. It’s foolish of me to ask, but what were you called before I bought you? 

The young slave sat as straight as his height would let him, bowing his helm so it didn’t hit the top of the transport pod. He glanced at his master then back out the window. “My favorite was scum,” he muttered.

“Speak up. No need to be shy, all I require of you is obedience.”

Emboldened but cautious, the younger mech repeated himself. It earned him a shrill chortle and a sliver of courage. If nothing else, he was naive enough to believe that he could survive solely off courage. 

“For now, I shall call you my pet.” The noble smiled to himself and folded his manicured servos in his lap. He was small compared to the other, yet he lacked any sign of fear or caution. How many times had he done this before? “However, I would like you to pick a name for yourself in the coming days. It will mark your new start and be the pinnacle of your resurrected self. Hmm, yes, resurrected.”

“May I choose now?”

The noble cocked a pencil-thin brow at him. “You have something in mind?” He waved a dainty servo. “Let’s hear it then.”

It came from stories whispered in the dark, long past midnight, when the eldest bots filled the silence with tales of Primes and gallant heroes. The young mech would miss those nights, but in Iacon it felt like the stories and heroics were right at his fingertips. Here, they were plausible. 

“Megatronus,” he breathed.

His noble seemed pleased. “Ah, an ancient name. It holds power, demands respect, and you look like the sort to live up to a name like that.”


	3. Chapter 3

The pod rolled to a stop but Megatronus was too consumed with his new name to really notice. When he stepped out, the night was darker than before. For a moment, Megatronus appreciated it, but then his master was tugging on his leash again and leading him into the depths of the massive oval structure that loomed over them. 

An armed guard nodded towards them, a smirk on his ugly face. “Evenin’, Spoil. Got another already?”

The noble grimaced back. “Don’t jinx me again, Ragtag.” 

“Ha, ‘ll try not to,” the guard snorted. He unlocked the gate barring the entrance and let the others pass. “Good luck.”

Once they were out of ear shot from the guard, Spoil stopped and turned. The lighting was so dim but Megatronus could still make out the scowl on the noble’s faceplates. 

“Luck has nothing to do with this business, kid,” he started. “You’ll do good to remember that.”

Megatronus nodded, not certain he was allowed to speak, and that seemed to please his master. The mech swiveled and continued leading him down the broad concrete hall. There were clusters of doors on either side of them, but it was the stains on the floor that caught Megatronus’ attention. They both concerned and intrigued him, but he didn’t ask what they were from. He listened attentively to try and make out muffled conversations behind some of the doors they passed, but the walls were too thick. 

By the time Spoil stopped tugging him along, an acrid odor overwhelmed him, swarmed his olfactory system and forced him to purge his tanks in a corner. When he stood and wiped his mouth, Spoil was watching him with narrowed optics, as if disappointed. 

“You’ll get used to it,” was all he said, and then they were walking again. It wasn’t much further till they stopped and Spoil unlocked the closest door. He waved a beckoning servo and Megatronus cautioned a step closer. 

The room was cramped to say the least but empty except for a metal slab jammed into the corner. Megatronus kept his helm down but glanced to his master. 

Spoil frowned. “Not much of a talker, are we?” He huffed and added, “we’ll have to fix that. Can’t have you out here copying one of our best gladiators’ niche, now can we? Regardless, you will be staying here until you’ve proven yourself worthy of more. There’s no formal training for gladiators, so you will be left to your own devices for now. Your first fight will be tomorrow, the opening act. Rest well, Megatronus.”

For the first night in a long time, Megatronus slept peacefully despite the fact that the door was locked from the outside. 


	4. Chapter 4

Megatronus woke the second the door unlocked. It flew open, swinging on its hinges and banging against the wall. He was up in a flash and tried to ask who was there, but no one answered. He crept closer to the entrance and stepped over the cube of energon in the doorway. In the hall, there were mechs everywhere. Most of them looked confused, dazed like they couldn’t remember how they got there. They, too, were checking the hall, asking questions, but no one knew the answers and whoever delivered their morning rations was already gone. Someone was shouting obscenities and Megatronus wasn’t sure if they were towards him or not, so he slunk back into his room and quietly drank his energon. In the hall, mechs and femmes were comparing how much they were bought for and how good of fighters they were. 

And when the hall hushed, Megatronus tensed, waiting and listening. A mech with immense shoulders and and a spiked helm knocked on his door frame. 

“You the Meg kid?”

“Megatronus,” he corrected, standing.

“Yeah, whatever.” The mech gave him a once over with his optics. “You’re openin’ today, got it?” He turned and marched back out, and Megatronus followed, trying to get an idea of where the turns they took and how to tell halls apart. “For yer first match, you fight a couple of organic things,” the mech was saying. “You can use whatever’s in the arena, but you gotta kill em, or let em kill you. Your choice.”

Once they left the barracks section, they came out into a massive hall that was more of a prep station, with benches and a small artillery. Mechs and femmes alike watched Megatronus as they cleaned their weapons and polished their armor. Someone slapped his ass as he passed and he whirled to face them, but everyone was laughing. He snarled and jogged to catch up to his guide. The hall ended up forming one giant circle, and in the middle was a pair of reinforced steel doors. 

“You go in soon,” the stranger said. He glanced at the chronometer in his wrist and back to Megatronus. “Spoil’s last toy was cheap. Incapacitated by an organic.”

Megatronus winced to think of himself as a toy. “What happened to them?”

Regarding him with no small amount of amusement, the mech said, “What happens to all broken play things.” The doors before them creaked and groaned as they began to open. “Hm, stadium’s quiet. Make sure to get em all riled up, kid.”

“Sure,” Megatronus muttered. He tried to stand tall and walk with pride and purpose into the arena, but when he glanced back and the doors were shut, panic surged through him. The colosseum was packed, but most bots were lounging around, waiting for something interesting. 

An overhead speaker announced, “Welcome, folks! Let’s get this show on the road with some metal on fleshy fights!” The crowd started to come to attention, leaning in, peering down, assessing him, making petty bets. “New to the ring, we have -ha- we have  _ Megatronus _ ! Big name for such an awkward mech!”

The crowd erupted in laughter, but Megatronus didn’t know what made him so awkward. He was waiting for his opponent, standing still with his arms by his sides. He tried to smile but it turned into a grimace and the jeers got louder. 

“Ah, time to fight! Release the organics!” the announcer bellowed. 

Across the arena, a cage door opened. Three wild-eyed beasts came lurching out, thorned tentacles flailing and mouth full of teeth gnashing. The things hissed and made a b-line for Megatronus. He sidestepped the initial charge as he surveyed the arena: there was absolutely nothing he could use as a weapon. Even his digits and dentae were blunt!

The organics twisted and writhed, pale appendages thrashing in the air. Megatronus squared off, not sure what else to do, and the creatures quickly surrounded him. Their heads, or what he assumed were heads, reached his shoulders and they quickly overcame him. One snagged his ankles and lifted, smacking his face against the hard dirt floor before the other two pinned his arms to his side. The crowd booed when nothing happened for a minute except for Megatronus’ shouting and kicking. But when a tentacle wove between his legs and latched onto his modesty panel, the viewers went wild. Even more so when the panel was ripped clear off. 

Megatronus screamed and sank his teeth into the nearest tentacle. It loosened enough so that he could get hold of one of the gnarly thorns near his face and jerked. The spike cracked and that organic recoiled with a screech. Brandishing the extremely sharp shard, Megatronus jabbed at the single eye of the closest monster. He hit home and it, too, dropped him, cradling its bleeding eye instead. 

The final organic, still trying to pry Megatronus’ legs apart, lifted him high above its head and waved him around like a flag. Megatronus bared his dentae at the ugly thing and bent down, closing his fists around an appendage and squeezing it with all his might. The tentacle burst, scattering greenish blue fluids and effectively releasing him. 

On his own two pedes again, Megatronus kicked the wailing organic onto its back and stomped on its head until its tentacles stopped twitching. He turned, head pounding from the ringing and the crowd’s cheers, to see that only one creature remained. The one he’d stabbed in the eye lay in a motionless heap and the last living one was curled next to it, sobbing in a tongue Megatronus had never heard before. He was cautious approaching this one, but it paid him no mind, even when he stood feet away from it. He lifted the chunk of thorn and brought it down on the back of the thing’s rubbery neck, killing it instantly. 

“And he did it folks! What a turn around!” Megatronus was ripped back to reality by that obnoxious voice. “And someone get him his codpiece!”

Although everyone in the stadium was applauding him, many laughed as well, and others catcalled. Megatronus hid himself with his servos, too numb to be enraged by the fact that thousands of Bots had seen his array, albeit inactive. He staggered towards the reopening doors. Inside the big loop, there were no congratulations or cheers. Megatronus was handed his recovered cod piece, but the hinges had been snapped so there was no latching it back on, and he was led back to the room he’d spent the night in. 

He was rewarded another cube of energon, but he didn’t touch it. He paid no mind to the gorges in his armor and protomesh where the organics’ thorns had pierced him. All he could hear was the announcer talking up the next fight and the crowd’s roars. He figured out, now, that his room was right under the stadium seats. Where else to keep a pet but out of sight?


	5. Chapter 5

“Not half bad, kid.”

Megatronus glanced up, shooting a glare to whoever was hovering in his doorway. He didn’t have the energy to close it earlier. 

The femme in the door rolled her ruby red optics and leaned against the frame. “What? Can’t I congratulate you?” 

He made to stand, but she was in front of him in a flash, steady servos keeping him on the berth. Uncertainty made him compliant, but he managed to hiss, “What are you doing?”

She held out a clawed servo. “Spoilt sent me to check on yuh.”

Megatronus ignored the offer, crossing his arms instead. 

“It won’t do you any good to start making enemies already,” the femme grumbled, but she perked up right away. “Oh, I’m Flint. Spoil’s personal aid.”

“Another toy,” Megatronus muttered. 

Flint frowned. “Get used to it. At least he takes care of us.”

“No organics tried to assault me before I met him.” Thankfully he’d been fitted with a new, albeit neon, codpiece.

“Yes, well, that’s what happens when you leave an opening.”

Megatronus stood, towering over the stocky femme. “You’re blaming  _ me _ !”

Flint didn’t budge. “No one warned you?” She scoffed. “Of course they didn’t.”

“What are you talking about?” Megatronus demanded. 

She sighed and sat down on the edge of his berth. “It’s part of the fights. The degradation. Death isn’t enough for the crowd sometimes, so fights vary between to-the-death and to-submission.”

“To submission?” Megatronus’ tanks sank. “You can’t mean. . .”

She flopped backwards with a dull thud. “He’ll try to make as much profit off you as possible.”

Megatronus sat next to her. “Spoil?” he asked quietly. 

“Who else?”

“How does he do it?”

A sideways look from tired optics was all the explanation he needed. 

Flint later took him to see their master up in his private viewing box. They were so close to the floor of the arena that there was crusted blood and energon on the windows. Spoil was sipping engex and reclining on a sofa, his thin frame accentuated by a velvet throw around his shoulders. He didn’t so much as glance away from the current fight when they entered. 

Flint kept her dented helm down and made her way to his side, kneeling before him. “Master,” she whispered. 

“You are late.” Optics still locked onto the free-for-all bloodbath soaking the arena, Spoil set down his drink and raised a servo. He slapped her so hard she struggled to stay balanced. He leaned forward and cupped Flint’s chin, forcing her to look him in the eye. “Leave us, darling.”

She nodded and hurried out of the room. Megatronus pretended to focus on the fight so he didn’t have to see her optics. 

Spoil beckoned him closer. “Tell me something, Megatronus. Are you a virgin?”

His voice was still so flat and calm that Megatronus wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. “Sir?” 

The puny mech grinned and sipped his drink. He cast a glance over his shoulder to the chuckling security guard at the door. “Answer me, pet.”

“No sir.”

“That’s quite unfortunate,” Spoil sighed. “Bots pay extra to lay with a virgin gladiator. Ah well, I suppose we’ll have to make do. Luckily, you are a very handsome mech.” He paused, swirled his engex, and crossed his slim legs. “You must understand, Megatronus, that small time gladiators such as yourself don’t bring in much money. Until you get big, which I do expect, you’ll need to make up for the lack of profit in other ways. For a mech of your. . . build, you are already in high demand with the nobles.”

Megatronus stared at the ground, consumed by the numbing knowledge that he would always be a plaything for the rich.“Sir,” he started, “what do you need of me?”

Spoil clapped once. “That’s the spirit! I need you to do whatever tonight’s noble asks of you, understand? If you’re compliant and, dare I say, a hard worker, you’ll most likely score some extra shanix. Anything you earn after the job is done is yours to keep.”

“Yes, sir.” “But first, we’ve got to get you cleaned up!” He clapped twice in quick succession and two lithe and sparkling femmes entered from an offset room. They were both so young and dazzling that Megatronus had to bite his tongue to ask what use they were to Spoil. Instinctually, he already knew. He only wished it wasn’t true. Spoil playfully chided the girls for their giggling and curious glances to Megatronus. “Come along, dolls, you’ve a big job ahead of you,” Spoil said. The femmes nodded and kissed the noble’s extended palms, each earning a pat on the head and a sip of his drink. “Now, I want this fine young mech cleaned and prepared for our good friend, Old Marty.” To Megatronus, he said, “There are private washracks two doors down, these pretty little things will get you ready, and your ride will be out front at nine. If you are late and make our client wait, you will be punished by both him and I.” Megatronus nodded, not trusting himself to speak.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rape/Non Con elements in this chapter.

Megatronus had never bathed indoors, let alone in such a fine facility, and his awed gaze left the young femmes giggling. They seemed so happy and clean and it sickened him. One of the younglings led him over to a row of showerheads while the other wheeled over a cart armed to the teeth with solvents, waxes, and repair tools. He tried to brush off the unease clouding him by fiddling with a silver knob and turning on the water. The sudden rush of ice cold water startled him and he jolted backwards, knocking into one of the femmes. She squeaked like a mechanimal and Megatronus turned but tripped over his own feet, falling over the poor thing. He caught himself enough so that he didn’t squish her, but when he looked down to check that she was alright, she was frozen, helm turned to the side, tears streaming down her face. 

Megatronus leaned back on his haunches and helped her sit up. The other youngling hovered close by, clicking and whirring anxiously. 

“Are you alright?” Megatronus asked to the crying femme. 

She struggled to smile and nod even as she swiped at her optics. When she glanced at him, he realized it was fear that left her trembling and teary eyed. She opened her mouth and clicked in old vernacular. 

Megatronus could hardly read, let alone understand her, but he tried his best to appear empathetic. He knew it was possible to harm your voice box to the extent that speaking is no longer possible, but these femmes had no scars on their throats, and their breathing wasn’t ragged. Their silence had been surgically rendered. 

The femmes made sure that Megatronus was presentable and shining by the time Flint came to collect him. She leaned against the doorframe of the expansive washracks and watched as the younger femmes finished applying a generous amount of peach scented wax to his shoulders.

“We’ve got to get going,” Flint said. 

The girls nodded and half-bowed to Megatronus as he stood to leave. He awkwardly bowed back and Flint snorted. 

“Don’t encourage them,” she said. “They like being pets.”

Megatronus followed her back through Spoil’s viewing box, but it was deserted now and the windows had been cleaned. Instead of going down through the Pits, they navigated the maze of private quarters and noble’s boxes until they passed through security and stepped out onto the street. Refreshing wasn’t the right word, but there was something calming about finally being back outside, in an open space. Of course, nothing would ever match the countryside’s air, especially after a long day in the mines. 

Flint nudged him with her elbow and nodded towards a sleek black transport pod a couple yards away. “That’s you,” she said. “Don’t worry about coming right back when you’re done, Spoil doesn’t care, as long as you are back by sunrise and he gets his deposit. Fair warning, Old Marty’s a spike mech.”

Megatronus ground his teeth together. “Understood.”

In the pod, there was only one mech, most likely a security guard, but Megatronus wasn’t sure if he was there to keep him safe or keep him from running away. Running didn’t seem too bad an option when he first considered it, but the longer he thought, the worse it would be. Spoil would certainly have him hunted down, punished, and killed. 

When the pod stopped and Megatronus was ushered out, he came face to face with the tallest building he’d ever seen. It loomed over him, already making him feel small even though he barely cleared the entrance. In the lobby, every helm was turned towards him, and a shiny little mech behind a twice as small desk practically shouted, “Room 2462, sir.”

The mechs and femmes, all reeking of perfumes and false confidence, snickered and muttered just loud enough for Megatronus to hear. 

“He only gets the pretty ones because he pays big.”

“Martimus’s showing off. . . again.”

All that gossip and trash, but not a single hint of pity or sympathy. Megatronus had witnessed the privileged ignorance countless times before, but now more than ever it dug under his armor. He used to believe that things would be better in the city, that here he could grasp equality. But it was no better here than there. 

Megatronus stood tall and followed Martimus’ hired help to an elevator, and from there to the penthouse. Two more mechs guarded the door to the penthouse, and when Megatronus was shoved inside, one of them pinched his ass. He stumbled inside and whipped around to face them, but the door was slammed in his face. 

The lights were so dim that he could hardly see, so he remained where he was, awaiting a command from the only other presence in the room. Martimus, he assumed, finally chuckled and husked, “You are stunning, but I would rather do more than stare tonight.”

Megatronus balked when the lights were turned up and the most obese mech he’d ever seen came into view. The mech’s arms were draped over the back of the couch he all but filled and his greasy face was etched with wrinkles. His array was already on display, although there wasn’t much to be gawked at, and Megatronus swallowed bile at the sight. 

“Well, what are you waiting for?” The mech scowled when his play thing stayed put. “Come here. Now,” he snarled. 

Megatronus steeled himself and walked up to the mech. He’d be a fool if he thought he could get this over with and get out of there, so he knelt before his buyer. When he cautiously reached a servo towards the mech’s flaccid spike, his servo was snatched up. 

Martimus grinned and released him. “You will use your mouth.”

He glanced from the age spotted spike to the skylight filtering moonlight down on them. His whole life, Megatronus had known that he could rely on the moons and the suns, and now that they watched him he feared that he brought them shame. He’d never done something so vulgar; sucking another mech’s spike felt like he was opening a door for filth to be dumped down his throat and cruddy his tanks and spoil his internals. There was no strain, no pleasure, only disgust when ‘Old Marty’ forced him to swallow his transfluid. The second the mech’s grubby servo stopped holding him down, Megatronus pulled off, coughing up fluids and praying to all the gods he didn’t believe in that he didn’t purge.

The mech laughed down at him. “When Spoil told me you weren’t a virgin, I at least expected you to have sucked a spike before!” He chortled some more, slapping his belly while Megatronus struggled to regain his composure. “Tell me, have you ever taken a spike, at all?”

Megatronus nodded. “Once,” he whispered. 

Even whispering felt too loud, and he wondered if it was freedom to never speak, to never hear. He wished, as he obeyed every command and clambered into the other mech’s lap, that he could never hear the filth spewing from him, the laborious breathing and the slurred indecencies, and he wished he had no voice to make similar sounds when they were requested of him. 

Twenty minutes and two more mechs later and Megatronus was alone in the streets, shivering and slick with no means of cleaning himself. He wandered the streets, subconsciously heading towards the most welcoming building he could find among the skyscrapers and the clubs. Everything sounded like an echo, the partiers barhopping, the pods rumbling in the road, even his own breathing. But when he stepped inside of the white pillared, temple-esque building, all of that faded away and he was met with pure quiet. Behind a front desk were rows and rows of books, neatly stacked and ordered. Megatronus could hide in those aisles and die peacefully, but his fantasy of nothingness was cut off by the clerk at the desk. He hadn’t seen the doe-eyed mech before, but now he was impossible to ignore. 

“May I help you?” the slim blue and red bot asked. His eyebrows bunched together and his blue optics took notice of every detail. “Are you hurt?”

Megatronus frowned and glanced down at himself, for the first time realizing that there was energon between his legs. He felt like he was being swallowed by a void, and he didn’t want to stop it, but this innocent little library clerk felt alive. His servos were warm on Megatronus’ arm when he led him to sit behind the desk, in a chair barely big enough for him, and his fear was real, so tangible. Megatronus groaned with the returning ache in his valve and his aft but he muttered some bullshit about being fine and tried to get up. The much smaller clerk carefully forced him to stay put, servos pushing down on his heaving shoulders. 

Megatronus was so tired, and the seat was soft, and when he fell asleep, he didn’t care what could happen. No one could harm him more than what he’d already lived through. 


	7. Chapter 7

He woke on a medical slab to snapping. Spoil was hovering over him, snapping to get his attention. Megatronus blinked and sat up, surprised that there was no pain in his array. 

“Spoil, sir,” he started, not sure what to say for himself.

“I send you to do an easy job,” his master snapped, “and I find you in the hospital?”

“I don’t know what happened, sir.”

Spoil huffed. “It’s not your fault. Marty’s guards always carry stun weapons. I never thought. . .” He ran a servo over his helm and cursed some more. For the first time since they met, Megatronus wondered how old Spoil was. “From now on, customers will have to come to us, and operate on our grounds, our terms. Once you’re all healed up, in a week or so, I will have another job set up, understand?”

Megatronus nodded. He never felt so weak before, so goddamn helpless. He was wetware trash, that’s what they’d called him, when they jumped him outside the penthouse. Rage and despair battled for a hold in him and he balled his fists in the medical grade sheets covering him. 

“Sir?”

Spoil was halfway out the door. “What is it?”

“I wish to resume fighting,” he growled. 

His master managed a grin. “In a few days. Just let that rage fester for now. You’ll use it soon enough.” 

A transport pod delivered Megatronus back to the Pits where Flint was waiting with a ration of stale energon and a note. She walked Megatronus back to his room in silence and only when they were locked in there alone did she pass him the energon. 

“He should have expected something like this,” she muttered. She leaned against the wall with her arms crossed and gaze intent on the wall across from her. 

Megatronus chugged the energon, swiping a dribble from his chin when he finished. “It doesn’t matter,” he grumbled. It was his own fault, after all. All this size, all this strength, yet he was weak. 

Flint pushed off of the wall. “It does. You’re the biggest mech Spoil’s ever dealt with, but he was foolish enough to send you off without a guard?”

“Did you have a guard?” 

She scoffed and turned to leave. Halfway out the door, she said, “You don’t have any fights until the weekend, but if you want to go out on your own, you have to talk to Spoil. Even damaged goods are worth keeping track of.”

Megatronus sat alone in his room, although he was quickly coming to think of it as a cell, and he stayed like that, thinking, until all the lights were shut off and the doors locked from the outside. 

In the morning, he found that his door had been graffitied, and the simmering rage in his gut returned. He ran a servo over the words, the ‘sluts’ and the ‘dirty whores’ and the ‘cheap wetwares’ and memorized the face of ever mech and femme that passed behind him in the hall, snickering and whispering. The pits were festering, and Megatronus needed out before it consumed him. Already he could feel every fiber of his being coiling tight to what little he had; his fury, and that was nothing but dangerous. So he shouldered through the stench of spilt energon and bile and rose to meet his master. He accepted the tracking collar without fuss, although it was too tight and pinched the delicate cabling of his neck, and he even stooped to bow for his master before leaving. 

The only thing Megatronus didn’t remember was how he got to the Hall of Records. It was strange, entering and not being met with shimmering blue optics and welcoming servos. The mech behind the desk was much too large, too round and pinched in the face. His beady green optics tracked Megatronus’ every movement. When he made to look down one of the aisles of books, the shriveled mech cleared his throat. 

“Sir? Sir,” he said, loud enough to alert everyone in the vicinity, “please leave.”

Megatronus glanced down another aisle. “I’m looking for someone,” he offered.

“We don’t want any trouble, but if you don’t leave now I’ll be forced to call security.”

“Why?” Megatronus’ hope was shrinking; all he wanted was to see that little mech from the night before. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“We don’t take kindly to your people,” a new voice boomed. 

A security guard, twice the size of Megatronus, loomed over him from behind. He tapped a stun rod idly against his massive black thigh as he waited for a reaction. Megatronus shrank away, servos up. His nerves stung with the reminder of the power held in that unseemly little rod and he quickly made his exit. 


	8. Chapter 8

Megatronus bristled through the rest of the night, replaying what happened in the Hall of Records over and over in his mind. Were “his people” the mechs and femmes born only to serve the rich, or were they merciless killers, gladiators known for violence and violence alone? Megatronus stewed alone in his room, listening to the echoing roar of a packed arena. No matter how hard he tried to justify the things he’d been put through at the rich’s hands, the only truth he found was the one he hated most. He hated it more than he loathed himself and his inherent weakness. Money rules Cybertron, and only violence can beat it, but the wealthy keep such a tight leash on the mechs and femmes ordained for violence. 

It was time for the rage and ferocity of the poor to be released. It was time to burn the high class and their money. Megatronus believed that with all his spark, yet he went to bed hopeless and drained. 

Flint had been instructed to train Megatronus in preparation for his return to the arena. There was a facility, an old and derelict cavern hidden deep below the arena, where wild beasts and organics were kept until the time of their slaughter. Megatronus stifled a gag from the horrid smell of excrement and mold, but there was nothing he could do to block out the wails of the condemned. These Pits were a thin veil away from Hell and the Chaos Bringer himself, and their training room was right in the middle of it all. To toughen your stomach, Flint said. 

They trained only with their fists. Flint was faster than Megatronus expected, and much more practiced in combat than his previous lifestyle made him. So they worked on the basics, footwork and throwing your weight behind your attacks. They worked without rest for hours, and Megatronus lost himself in the simplicity of the exercises, the burn in his arms and legs, the hissing of his vents as they struggled to expel heat. Flint spoke only to instruct him, to “straighten your back” and to “lunge faster.” More than once she caught him by surprise with her attacks and he caught a fist to the jaw, another to the ribs, and the last time it happened he just barely blocked a strike to his face. He stumbled back with the force of the punch and lowered his arms. 

“Why won’t you speak,” he snarled, “but beat me?”

Flint’s servos transformed into blades and she attacked again. Megatronus was fast enough this time to sidestep her. 

“Because you are weak!” Flint growled. She lashed out twice in quick succession, slicing a clean line over Megatronus’ shoulder. While he was distracted, she swiped his legs out from under him. “And weakness needs to be bled out!”

Megatronus lay stock still beneath her, his rage quickly turning to concern. From any other angle, he would never have noticed the deep gauges on the insides of Flint’s thighs. There were scabs atop scars and bruises around them. Without thinking, he reached to brush a thumb over the closest set of scars. Flint jumped back and squatted, frame tense and optics fierce.

“What happened to you?” Megatronus whispered. 

Flint retracted her blades but didn’t stand. She said nothing, only watched him with those eyes full of boiling rage. He recognized the fury and hopelessness in her optics as what he’d felt only hours ago. How many bots harbored this infuriating desperation, Megatronus wondered. 

“Enough training,” Flint finally said. “I need to report to Spoil.”

Megatronus stood but didn’t stop her leaving. He remained in the training room, practicing his footwork and punches, ignoring a crowd of mechs who came in and started sparring. He moved to a corner so he was out of the way and jabbed his fists into the dirt wall, bouncing on his heels and relishing the pain in his knuckles until he noticed someone watching him. 

The mech was only a head or so shorter than Megatronus, and lithe, all blacks and purples. A visor covered his face but his optics glowed with a purple shine, bright enough to be seen through the glass barrier. Megatronus thought he recognized the build of the mech, especially those long and slender digits, but he rolled his shoulders and resumed his training. 

Only when Megatronus’s knuckles were swollen and numb did he return to his room, but he couldn’t shake the purple mech’s riveting gaze. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for Rape/Non-Con and Violence

The days and nights continued, and Megatronus remained burdened by his searing trauma. Not an hour passed when he wasn’t training now, restless and charged; he turned his pain and anguish into fuel. A reason to fight, to endlessly push himself past the limits of his body and become something worth fearing. Flint no longer trained with him, and he hadn’t seen her since their last session. But when he was alone, in the Pit, fury overcame what was once the weariness of his frame. 

A week later, when Megatronus was finally called to see his master, he felt like he was ready to take on the world. Spoil congratulated him on a quick recovery and gave a distracted pep-talk for the fight he’d scheduled for Megatronus that evening. 

“Give ‘em a show, champ,” he’d said.

This time, Megatronus was allowed a weapon. The arena gate keeper tossed it to him moments before the doors opened and he was swallowed by the ring. He turned it over in his servo before grasping the handle so that the blade of the dagger was facing the ground, and marched into the arena. Helm raised, he walked with purpose, the ends of his nerves tingling with adrenaline as the crowd spewed a handful of cheers and he was announced on the loud speakers. 

“And, on the other side we have two hefty mechs lookin’ for a good time. How will fresh blood Megatr…”

Megatronus took a step back at the sight of them; their identical armor, the electrified rods each tapped on their hips. Inside, his spark shriveled and then, at the grins on his assaulters’ faces, swelled with equal parts rage and instinct. Instinct to kill, to restore his pride which they so arrogantly wrenched from between his legs. He squared his shoulders and set his stance, pedes digging into the dirt. 

No sooner did the televised voice boom, “Begin!” than was Megatronus lunging. His strong legs carried him quickly and gracefully across the playing field, and he pivoted to attack the closest of his enemies. The foolish mech hadn’t ran, instead he held up his immobilizing rod and waved it in front of his face, as if that would deter Megatronus. 

Megatronus collided into the mech with so much force that his helm cracked against the ground, and in another motion he’d pinned him down, one knee on his throat and the other on the arm without the weapon. The crowd was hushed, either shocked or bored, but when Megatronus began sawing at the other mech’s wrist, they erupted. Fueled by the blinding white rage in his spark, Megatronus was so focussed on his current target, that he was sideswiped by the other, who barreled into him. They latched onto each other and wrestled, kicking up so much dust neither could see. Megatronus howled when electric fire suddenly burnt his side, the way it had the night of his attack. He lurched forward, teeth sinking into the closest thing they could find while he ripped an arm free and swung his dagger wildly.

The mech yanked away, and for a moment, Megatronus only lay there, heaving, until the chant of the crowd reached him. Thousands screaming for him to get up, thousands belting his name, and his alone. 

On his feet again, Megatronus spat dust and slowly stalked towards where the one mech was checking on the other. With a snarl loud enough to be heard by the lowest rows of the stadium, he lunged, drop kicking the standing mech and rolling so that he was right in front of the other. In one swift motion, Megatronus hauled the bleeding bot up and threw him at his companion. Again, he made no rush to get to them, and the eager rumble of the stadium could be felt in his pedes. When he reached the now standing mechs, Megatronus put his arms up, fists and knife in front of his face, waiting for one of them to make the next move. The larger of the two, with both working servos, jabbed at the young gladiator with the same tool used to incapacitate him only days ago. Megatronus dodged, grabbed the rod, and ripped it out of the mech’s servo as he plunged his dagger into the mech’s forehelm. 

The mech stumbled backwards for a moment, digits clawing at the knife lodged in his skull, optics rolled back into his helm, and then he dropped. Megatronus felt the roar of the crowd in his spark, and it only encouraged him as he moved to the remaining opponent, still writhing on the ground and cradling a barely-attached servo. Megatronus hovered over the bot, watching the terror settle in his optics, then bent down and ripped his servo off. While the mech screamed even louder, Megatronus tossed the dismembered hand towards Spoil’s viewing box. 

When the pitiful mech behind him began to beg, Megatronus whirled around.

“Please, please I beg you!” The mech cried, “Have mercy! Please!”

Megatronus snorted and knelt next to him. “Don’t you know where you are.” He stood and hauled the mech up with him, but forced him to bend at the waist. He tore the mech’s covers off and bent to hiss in his audial; “No, you deserve no better than this.” And he slammed into him as the crowd’s cheers turned to ecstatic whoops and howls and the mech screamed his pain.


	10. Chapter 10

“Bravo,” Spoil declared. He appraised Megatronus and clapped again, motioning for him to sit on a stool across from him. “That was, by far, the best show I’ve seen in ages!”

Megatronus bowed in thanks, grateful that he’d had time to cool off before being summoned. If not, he wasn’t sure he could stomach the elite’s  _ breathing _ . Flint stood next to Spoil’s chair, but she refused to so much as glance at Megatronus. Instead, she left the fawning up to the twins, the vernacular speaking femmes who had shifted from massaging Spoil to clinging to Megatronus.

“I will say, I wish I’d planned this,” Spoil said, grinning. “Marty informed me just this morning that he was selling those two. I had no idea you’d be paired with them, but my oh my the results were. . .” He sipped from a sparkling glass of engex. “Dazzling,” he finished. 

Megatronus jumped a little when one of the femmes slipped into his lap. She was so small and warm in stark contrast to the mech in the arena. Thinking about what he did now makes him nauseous. In the moment, it felt like the right thing, to redeem himself, to prove that he was no one’s toy, but what he’d proved was that he was no better than the ones who did the same to him. And now, a different kind of fury was settling in his tanks while these cute little femmes toyed with sensitive wiring and seams. 

“Now,” Spoil added, “you must understand that, because of your little show out there, I’ve already received numerous requests for your company this evening. Naturally, you’ll be seeing the highest bidder. One young Aries, nephew of a council member and heir to one of the wealthiest estates in the countryside. Like we discussed after your first. . . incident. . .”

Megatronus recoiled at the use of the word that made it seem like his assault had been his fault and his alone. But then. . . wasn’t it?

“. . .you will be conducting business in one of my spare rooms.” Spoil nodded towards a closed door tucked into the back of the viewing box. “I will not be present, but Flint will. From now on, she will act as your guard during these scenarios.” Apparently Spoil was finished because he flicked his wrist and sent them off with a grin. 

Flint spared him a glance and nothing more. 

The twins ushered Megatronus up and along to the washroom, which was busier than before. As they slotted into an empty space, he noticed the sleek frame of one of the mechs bathing nearby. As the twins prepared solvents and waxes, Megatronus watched the mech. There was no one helping him, and he was scrubbing himself raw. In the drain remained traces of an organic —blood and fur— and Megatronus wondered how long the bot was going to scrape away at himself. 

When he showed no sign of stopping, he called out, “You’ll start bleeding if you keep at that.”

The mech turned and fixed Megatronus with his uncovered, stunning purple optics. His lips were pressed in a tight line yet he was mystically beautiful. He looked away and resumed his scrubbing. For a horrific while, Megatronus wondered if he, like the twins cleaning away, had been forcibly silenced. 

Unlike Old Marty, Aries was cleanly and polite, with a pinched waist and slanted green optics. If there was ever another way they’d met, Megatronus would have found this small thing attractive. Now, he leans back and swallows a pill —courtesy of Flint— while the mech pouts because Megatronus can’t “get it up.” This too, was all his fault. When Aries touched him, all he could think of was the mech he raped in the arena. It was too much, and he had to stop twice to chug cheap highgrade and force down the need to vomit. 

With the help of the pill, Megatronus slotted into his whining client, who let out a cry not unlike the ones his victim had made. Low and strangled, it was impossible for Megatronus to tell what was pleasure and what wasn’t. In the end, he did as little as he could, running on autopilot just enough so that he didn’t have to experience the session while still leaving the young noble satisfied. 

After Aries left, Megatronus purged his tanks twice in the private bathroom attached to the viewing box. Flint waited in the main room, and when he finished and came out she was staring down at the vacant arena. 

“It’s just a circle,” she muttered. Megatronus stood next to her, struggling to see what she saw. “But it controls everything.”

He thought for a moment. “What we do with it controls everything,” he finally said. 

She hummed. “You’re right. If this stadium was used for a peace rally or a school, people like us wouldn’t be here. We’d be underground, still controlled.”

Softly, Megatronus asked, “How long have you been here?” He meant,  _ What happened to you? _ , but he worried that she’d take offense.

“Same as you; my whole life.”

At first, he didn’t understand what she meant, but when he was alone in his joke of a room, with the door locked from the outside, he understood. They’d both been slaves their entire lives: It didn’t matter what it looked like, they were still the controlled ones. The submissive ones. 


	11. Chapter 11

Megatronus threw himself into his training and his fights, taking every opportunity to learn and focus his skills. He buried his guilt and the phantom ache of his array under the bloodshed, and he refused to end any match with what the crowd craved. From him, all they would get was to-the-death. If they wanted more, Spoil would gladly add them to the waitlist of after-hours clients. 

Megatronus became impervious to the slander and the borderline abuse that earned him extra tips. The money he didn’t spend on fresh meals was kept in a knapsack just small enough to fit into his chest cavity when he opened it. 

On one of the rare days when he didn’t have any fights, Megatronus was allowed to wander the city (as long as he kept his collar on). The majority of bots he passed shied away from him, helms ducked and gazes flitting. Only the largest of them, mostly other gladiators, acknowledged him. In the market, no one spoke to him, only accepted his shanix when he bought a helping of energon. 

He ate while he walked, blindly making his way to the one place he’d been treated like anyone else. The Iacon Hall of Records was like a lifeline that he wasn’t supposed to touch, but he couldn’t help being drawn to it. Maybe a bit of solitude was what he needed. On either side of the mighty building were a handful of benches, each dedicated to some bot whose name Megatronus didn’t recognize. He chose one with a plaque for Alpha Trion and settled in, angled towards the entrance, waiting. Waiting for what, he wasn’t sure, but the suns shone down and warmed his armor and he tilted his helm back, soaking it up. He never took sunlight for granted, but now it felt especially valuable when, in a couple of hours, he would return to the Pits and be entrenched in the reek of dying organics. 

It wasn't until the suns began to set that he noticed someone coming down the steps of the record hall. Someone small and unseemly, yet Megatronus would recognize that frame anywhere. The mech was walking the opposite way, but it felt wrong to let him go, so Megatronus scrambled to his pedes and jogged after him. 

“Hey!” he called. The little bot glanced over his shoulder then stopped and turned. Megatronus didn’t walk right up to him; the last thing he wanted to do was scare the other. He hadn’t exerted himself at all, yet he was out of breath and out of words when the blue and red bot fixed him with those sterling blue optics. 

“Hello?” After a moment his optics lit up and he took an emboldened step forward. “Oh! It’s. . . How are you feeling?”

Megatronus rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve healed up,” he said. “But. . . I wanted to thank you, for helping me that night. It, uh. . .”

The little mech smiled, his expression softening even though his shoulders were still tensed. “No need, although I’m glad to hear you’re better.”

They were attracting stares. In Iacon, it was considered taboo for two mechs from completely different socioeconomic classes to interact, and there they were, right in the middle of the city and out in the open. Megatronus cleared his throat and nodded, confirming to himself that he’d finished his business, and turned to leave.

He only made it a couple of paces before the little bot jogged to catch up. “Wait,” he rushed, “do you want to grab dinner?”

Megatronus stopped and stared now, bewildered by the offer. “But we are strangers,” he said. 

“We don’t have to be. The name’s Orion. Orion Pax.”

Maccadam’s was, apparently, the one bar in the whole of Cybertron that was open to anyone and everyone and prohibited violence. Megatronus expected glares and nasty comments when he followed Orion Pax into the warmly light bar, but all he got were brief, uninterested glances. The bartender even welcomed him.

Pax chose a booth near the back of the shop and settled in. Megatronus slipped in across from him, still not understanding how he’d gotten here. Once they placed their orders, the virtual stranger on the other side of the booth leaned against the table and smiled up at Megatronus. 

“So,” he started, “what’s your name?”

It took longer than he wanted to untangle his thoughts and respond. “Megatronus. Why. . . why aren’t you scared of me?”

Pax glanced from his optics to his collar. He waited to answer until the waiter who brought their drinks was out of earshot. “You didn’t choose to be a gladiator, I know that much. Is it wrong to get to know someone instead of running away because of something they have no control over?”

“That isn’t true,” Megatronus muttered into his drink.

Pax tilted his helm, brows bunching together. “How?”

“Aren’t you worried that I’ll hurt you?”

He frowned. “I am a little cautious. Why do you think I chose a crowded bar instead of taking you to my home? But. . .” His voice turned to a hush and Megatronus strained to hear him. “The first time I saw you, you were covered in your own blood. I’m not naive, I know what happened, and I know that you wouldn’t have come to the Hall of Records if you had anywhere else to go in that moment. Maybe. . . maybe I can help you.”

Megatronus snorted, suddenly too aware of the spotless finish of this bot’s armor, the dainty servos and sparkling ignorance. He was nothing more than a charity case for Orion Pax. He dropped a handful of shanix on the table, suddenly too angry to sit there and play friend with the bewildered Pax.

“I don’t need your help,” was the last thing he snarled. 


	12. Chapter 12

The more he fought, the more he poured himself into winning, the more fans Megatronus amassed. At first, he felt sick from their praise and hid away, but that only made him more mysterious, more sensatiable, Spoil said. So he embraced it all; the wild lusting cries for him, the shanix and sweets tossed his way, the servos reaching for a touch. His ego had no reason to be so inflamed and his conscience seemed to know that. It left him raw and exposed, always searching the crowds for a face he couldn’t find. He barely knew who he was looking for. 

After one of his most gruesome fights, a pair of gladiators was waiting by his room. Megatronus recognized the one as the rumored “ghost of the Pits” and whom he’d seen scrubbing himself raw in the washracks. The other was Flint, looking worse for wear. Megatronus allowed them into his room, as if that notion meant anything, and closed the door behind them. He crossed his arms and leaned back against the door, waiting for an explanation.

Flint flopped onto his bed and waved her servo at the “ghost.” “This,” she said, “is Soundwave. You two are currently the same rank of Gladiator; undefeated, but still minor league.”

“You speak to me for the first time in a month and it’s to announce rank?” Megatronus snarled. 

Soundwave stepped forward, a touch too close for comfort, and whispered, “No.”

Megatronus wanted to rip the mech’s damned visor off, but instead he clenched his fists and asked, “No  _ what _ ?”

“We want you to be our voice,” Flint announced from the bed. 

Soundwave leaned closer. “Be our representative,” he said.

Quiet now, Megatronus studied the two of them. “What are you talking about? We can’t. . . we are just slaves.”

Flint stood, stretching out her arms. “You know that’s not true. Look at you, the strength you possess.”

“Strength isn’t power.”

“No,” Soundwave muttered, “but you can use strength to achieve power.”

Megatronus shook his helm. He had followed rebels before, back in the mine and on the plantation, and he bore the scars from their inevitable failures to defeat their masters. “What you’re suggesting is. . . beyond dangerous. We can’t—”

Soundwave thrust a scrap of paper at him. “Say this, after your next fight.”

“Is it just the two of you?” Megatronus asked without looking at the paper.

“You’re a fool if you think we’re the only ones who are ready for a change,” Flint said. “Think about it, but don’t forget where you came from.”

That night, Megatronus made the mistake of talking back to an after-hours client. They’d commanded him to sit, like some mech animal, and he’d refused. 

“I am your equal, not a dog,” he’d said. 

The noble he was supposed to be servicing laughed long and hard while they uncoiled a whip from their subspace. After the first lash, they spit in his face and shouted, “You? You’re nothing but property. On your knees, pet.”

And as he took the beating, grinding his dentae together with each powerful stroke, Megatronus realized that this was the pattern of the Pits. In the morning, fight, win, and be empowered and worshipped for your success, but hours later be degraded and reduced to wetware with no mobility of your own. It was how even the most powerful gladiators were controlled, and once you started to believe the abuse, you could never break away. 

The next day, when the “enemy’s” sword slashed Megatronus’ chest, a hush fell over the crowd. It wasn’t like him to bleed. The energon was nothing new to him, but for them, it was his fall from god-hood. He wasn’t  _ supposed  _ to bleed. If he bled, he wasn’t worth idolism. Megatronus staggered back, a servo clamping over the wound. Jaw clenched and fists closed, he lunged. The crowd roared. 

The “enemy” gladiator stuck in the arena was caught off guard. She took a left hook to the jaw and when she stumbled, dropping her sword, Megatronus kicked her knees in. They popped and cracked, the sound of a pick-axe on untapped rock. Her scream echoed through the stadium, and the crowd swallowed it as if they starved. The “enemy” fell on her ass and fumbled for her sword, but it was too far and Megatronus too close. He fell over her like a cosmic storm, pede crushing her throat as he ground his heel down. Her servos scrambled and scratched his leg and he relented. Relief was a brief glimmer on the femme’s malformed faceplates. Megatronus towered over her, bemused as she struggled to get up. Adrenaline flooded his systems, the fierce beat of his spark distracting from the gash crossing his chassis. Elated and buzzing, he dropped an elbow on the other’s back and she crumbled, barely able to kneel. 

It was pathetic, but the fight was over. It was the second she lost her ground and her sword. Megatronus knew the look of stubborn defiance in her optics, even as her frame trembled: furiously awaiting execution. The crowd was frantic when he retrieved her sword from the dust. They knew what was coming. Every senator, every mech and femme with their greedily stuffed pockets, and every coddled sparkling. Megatronus  _ felt  _ it, roiling in his spark and sending electricity to the tips of his fingers. His fingers clasped on the cheap, uncultured leather handle. 

Her helm did not detach with the first powerful stroke. It dropped, cheek against chest, and dangled by severed energon lines and fat tendons of metal muscle. The crowd’s helm rolled, like an ancient, virulent beast. Megatronus stabbed the bloody sword into the dirt and threw up his arms. He strut in circles around the corpse as femmes threw him crystal flowers and charms and mechs hooted his name. When he opened his mouth, the stadium fell silent, everyone eager to hear him for the first time. What, they craved, would their champion say?

Megatronus loved and hated it, the enraptured, lustful, gaping mouths with their lolling tongues and screamed confessions. It made him forget the body, still spilling energon, and the wide, glaring optics of the dead. 

He threw a fist in the air and roared, “Where are your gods? I bleed and I kill for you! Do they?” He turned and strode out of the stadium. 

Even when the doors to the arena closed, big steel slabs, he could hear their chant. It shook the colosseum and echoed like a growl through the underground tunnels. His name, on the tongues of his enemies; his worshippers. He only hoped it had the effect Flint and Soundwave wanted.


	13. Chapter 13

Megatronus met Soundwave and Flint at Macadam's Bar the next morning. They huddled into a dark corner booth and watched the other patrons for a while. Megatronus thought he saw a familiar frame, but then Flint was talking and he focused on her.

“Things need to change. You get that, right, Megatronus?”

He nodded. “Of course I do. But. . . what can we do? I’ve heard rumors of other gladiators trying and. . . I have seen firsthand what happens to a disobedient servant.”

“They didn’t have the following you do,” Soundwave whispered. 

“For now,” Flint said, “we do as our masters command. On the surface we’ll be good and obedient and under it, we’ll work on spreading the word.”

“What word?” Megatronus felt like he was falling behind and couldn’t catch up. “There’s nothing to spread.”

“He’s right,” Soundwave said to Flint. “We need allies right now.”

Flint scoffed. “Don’t you want to  _ do  _ something? I’m tired of just talking.”

Soundwave and Flint said their goodbyes and parted ways not long after that. Megatronus moved to the bar and ordered himself a round. He hunched over his drink, trying to make sense of Flint’s idea. He agreed —of course he agreed— that something needed to change, but what? Were they to overthrow the whole of Cybertron? Rebuild it then and deem it perfect? Or was it that she wanted to eradicate all the nobles and anyone else who perpetuated the divided class system and the slave ownership? 

Megatronus finished two small glasses of potent engex and he still hadn’t figured it out. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed someone slip into the bar stool next to him. 

“You’ll drink yourself to death if you keep on like that,” they said.

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” he muttered as he turned. He froze at the sight of him, small and dainty Orion Pax, whose pedes barely reached the floor. “You. . .”

Pax held up his servos. “I’m sorry,” he rushed. “I’m sorry I insulted you and. . . well, if you don’t mind, I’ll buy your next round.”

Megatronus didn’t reject the offer. “You’re awfully persistent,” he grumbled. 

“Sorry. I can go,” Pax said. He looked up with those stunning blue optics and Megatronus couldn’t find it in his spark to push him away.

“No, this is fine. I could use some company.”

They drank a few minutes in silence until Pax leaned over and asked, “Do you want to come back to my place? I want to start over with you.”

Megatronus frowned and threw back the last of his drink. “Did you never learn ‘stranger danger’?”

Pax grinned as he passed the bartender enough money for both their tabs. “How much longer do we have to be strangers?”

Orion Pax’s flat smelled of lavender and ink, and every possible surface was stacked with books and datapads. Sparkling crystals and scenic photos were the only real decoration, and as Megatronus settled onto the couch that Pax cleared for him, he couldn’t help but close his optics and soak it in. This, he thought, was what a home felt like. He opened his optics and reached for a traditionally bound paper book that was stacked by his pede. He leafed through it until Pax returned with two glasses of sparkling energon and a box of sweets. 

Megatronus accepted a glass and Pax situated himself on the remaining couch space, tucking his legs under him. “Sorry for the mess,” he started. “These are all donations for the Hall of Records. I have to go through and log them, but I don’t mind.” He smiled, soft and sweet as the candies he held out. “Do you like to read?” 

Megatronus couldn’t look at him for too long, it felt wrong to taint this pure persona with the gaze of a filthy gladiator. “I never have,” he admitted. He turned the book over, waiting for the beratement. 

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Pax said. He layed a servo on Megatronus’ knee and beamed up at him.

Megatronus felt like he was going to purge his tanks. Suddenly bitter, he snapped, “I won’t let you boss me around like some piece of wetware.”

Pax, startled, pulled his servo back like he touched something hot. “Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t think. . .” he couldn’t meet Megatronus’ gaze. “I have no intention of ordering anything from you,” he whispered. 

Megatronus’ tanks sank. Had he been so easily conditioned to believe that everyone better off than him was out to use him? “No, Pax,” he muttered, “it’s not your fault. Maybe. . . can I stay, for a little while longer? I’d like to read something.”

Pax nodded. “Of course. And, please, call me Orion.” He got up and started sifting through piles of datapads and books. “What do you want to read?”

“History.” He hesitated. “Or, well, are there books about freedom?” It was a dumb question, he scolded himself when Orion said nothing and kept searching. But then the smaller mech dropped a stack of books on the couch and smiled up at him.

“Personally,” Orion started, “I believe that every piece of literature has something to do with freedom. That said, I grabbed one fiction novela, an autobiography from one of the supposed thirteen Primes, and those three are philosophy texts about what it means to be free.”

Megatronus leaned over and appraised the pile, clueless as to where to start. He glanced up at Orion, and in that moment, never felt safer. Perhaps, he could understand the need for freedom. “Which do you suggest?” Megatronus finally asked. 

Orion flopped down and picked up the autobiography. “I’ve only read this once, but it’s not what you’d expect of one of the Thirteen. Like I said too, it could just be a marketing ploy.” He flipped the book over and ran his digits over the spine. “But then why would it be banned?”

“There are banned books?” Megatronus only knew of books in a forbidden sense, but in a room full of them, he couldn’t understand how even the highest classed mech wasn’t allowed to read some things. 

“It’s a ploy, by the Council.” Orion frowned and glanced at the others’ collar. “Censorship, they call it, but it’s just another form of control.”

They sat in silence, each lost to his own thoughts. Megatronus jumped back to reality when Orion reached out and grazed the freshly mended gash across his chassis.

He yanked his servo back when he realized what he’d done. “Sorry, I. . . I wish we lived in a world where you didn’t have to fight for your life. It isn’t. . .” He looked away.

Megatronus thought of Flint and Soundwave and their flimsy call to action, if you could even call it that. He stared into the sparkling engex and saw the blood of his last victim. It took all his strength to not throw the glass down and bury his face in his hands. 

“Can we change nothing?” he rumbled. 

Orion focused on him, optics filled with a fresh ferocity. “We can. But to change something you first have to understand it.” He waved a book in the air. “And this is where we start.”


	14. Chapter 14

Megatronus didn’t leave Orion’s apartment until dangerously close to curfew. They’d been settled on the couch, reading from the twelfth Primes’ autobiography. Megatronus struggled with an embarrassing amount of the words, but Orion was patient and understanding and together they deciphered the Prime’s hopes and dreams for the civilization he’d helped mold. Most of which were quickly tainted and demolished by the greedy nature of mechs. When it had come time to leave, Megatronus had hovered by the door after he and Orion said their goodbyes. He wished he could have stayed the night, tucked into that couch but was forced to pry himself away from the door and back to the Pits where a cold cage awaited. 

Freedom wasn’t something to be begged for, that much Megatronus had known since he was small. But the more he read and learned with Orion, the more he grasped that the fight for freedom was literal. It was a war waiting to happen, but it didn’t have to be that way. Small, carefully chosen battles, Orion said, were more impactful than mindless bloodshed. Megatronus agreed, but in the Pits he was forced to forget all that in lieu of his own survival. 

The whiplash was sickening; going from a safe and sheltered space where violence was spoken of in hypotheticals to a hell where death could only be staved off with anothers' spilt energon. The transition left him fierce in the arena and weary beyond it. One day, Orion pointed out the undertones of discordance among the freedom fighters in the novel they were reading. He looked up at Megatronus and said that a cause unites the less fortunate, but is useless without complete unity. So Megatronus started talking to the other gladiators, always in an unassuming place, like the washracks before a nights’ submission or the training rooms, where no master ever went. At first, he only listened, listened to the horrors and the strife they endured. He encouraged every mech and femme to be resilient and keep hope in their sparks. Not everyone wanted to talk to him and some laughed in his face, but he quickly learned faces and names and kept a list of them in his head. Flint and Soundwave did the same, and they listened raptly when Megatronus struggled to explain everything he and Orion read about freedom. Flint was quickly fed up with the undeveloped philosophy of it all and would leave Soundwave and him for hours of discussing the essentials of freedom. And yet, months passed and they continued to be obedient gladiators and submissive whores, only whispering of freedom in the moments reserved for eating and leisure. 

In all that time, Megatronus and Orion became closer than either would have foreseen. When they were together, Megatronus felt warm and swaddled in Orion’s compassion. He never asked anything of Megatronus, just as he’d promised, but he looked at him with such adoring optics. Megatronus never knew love, but Orion made him believe he could.

Now, on one of his rare days off —Spoil said he’d earned it with his performance the previous day— Megatronus called up Orion while he wandered an open air market. He didn’t answer the first time, but picked up right away the second time.

“Hello?”

Megatronus smiled at the sound of his voice. He was clearly distracted, probably face down in a book. “Are you free?” he asked.

A pause. “What do you have in mind?”

“A surprise.” Megatronus cradled a bushel of light blue cyberflowers in his arm and paid for them with his free hand. They reminded him of Orion’s optics and it felt like a shame to not share them with him. “I wanted to talk too.”

Orion laughed. “Oh? Hmm, I think I can make time,” he joked.

“Meet me at your apartment?”

“See you then.”

Megatronus paced the hall outside Orion’s door. What was he doing? His chassis felt hot and his nerves jittery. He’d planned to tell Orion how he felt, but what words could describe the way his spark thrummed for him, or how he longed to spend the nights in his arms. Before he could gain the courage to knock, Orion opened the door and poked his helm out. 

“Megatronus!” He beamed, like a little angle, and took Megatronus’ servo. “Come on, silly, dinner’s getting cold.”

He stumbled in, but stopped just inside the door. The apartment was lit with candles and most of the books had been cleaned up and stacked against the walls. Orion was bustling around a dining table he’d never noticed before, adjusting plates and glasses, and when he looked up, Megatronus’ knees went weak. 

“What’s wrong?” Orion asked. He took a cautious step away from the table. A look of horror crossed over his face. “Oh, your surprise. It wasn’t dinner was it? I’m so sorry, I didn’t even think that—”

Megatronus smiled, although it didn’t seem to reassure Orion. “No,” he said. He held out the bunch of flowers. “These were my surprise.”

Orion came over and accepted the flowers, cradling them close to his chassis and burying his face in the petals. He sighed, optics closed, and took Megatronus’ servo. “Thank you. They’re lovely.”

Megatronus rubbed the back of his neck. “I wasn’t sure if you liked that sort of thing. . .”

Orion led him to the table. “Not usually, but when they’re from someone I care about, they mean the world. Now, sit. I hope you like organic based foods.”

Megatronus felt twenty sizes too big sitting at the table, servos folded in his lap. He watched Orion shuffle about his kitchen and return with a pot of something white. “I didn’t think we could digest organic things,” he said. 

Orion grinned as he dished out the mix. It slopped onto the plate and Megatronus tried not to grimace. 

“Usually we can’t, but this was made with energon and fibers that we can eat. For whatever reason it’s supposed to mimic an organic meal. It’s pasta with pesto sauce. I tested it earlier but hopefully it’s decent.” He dipped back into the kitchen and returned with a glass of bubbly engex. 

“I’ve never eaten off of a plate before,” Megatronus said, more amazed than anything, but it made Orion pause. 

“Well,” he started, “I thought we could talk over a nice meal.” He poured the engex and settled into his chair. 

“Nice? This borders extrav— extravagant.” Mentally, he scolded himself for messing up the word. “It’s romantic.” 

Orion smiled. “I guess it is.”

Megatronus hid his sudden surge of anxiety behind a mouthful of pasta. He fought back the need to gag and chewed slowly. Orion took a bite and promptly spit it back out. He coughed into a napkin and downed his whole glass of engex. 

“Primus that’s awful!” he declared. 

Megatronus swallowed his bite and downed his drink. He met Orion’s gaze and they burst with laughter. They laughed until their sides hurt and as they calmed down, Megatronus breathed out, “I love you.”

Orion froze and Megatronus sat, petrified. He hadn’t meant to say that, but when Orion leaned across the table and took both his servos, he felt it in his core. 

“I love you too,” Orion said. His optics shimmered like a crystal caught in the sun and his smile was so bright it  _ was  _ the sun. “Can I kiss you?” he asked. Megatronus kissed him over their failed meal, and his tanks fluttered with a joy he’d never experienced. Complete and exuberating joy. 


	15. Chapter 15

“Do you think,” Orion said, “that this is wrong?”

The question startled Megatronus away from peeling the lid off his substitute dinner. He looked up from the energon cube but Orion didn’t meet his gaze. “Your cooking isn’t that horrible,” he tried to joke. 

“Thanks, but you know that’s not what I mean.” Orion smiled and glanced up. “I mean. . . is it too soon to call this love?”

Megatronus’ tanks dropped. “You— why would you ask me that  _ after  _ saying it?”

Orion ripped the lid off his cube with a startling vigor. “I don’t know. I just. . . I do love you, I think this is love. But I don’t know for sure. Do you?”

“I. . .” He felt safe with Orion, like he didn’t have to worry that he’d backstab him. He’d only felt the same way with one mech before, an elder slave who taught him how to read. But that, he wouldn’t call love. So why was this different? Why, with Orion, did he want to devote himself so completely that love didn’t feel like a strong enough word for what he felt? 

Orion curled his servos around his cube. “I want to be close to you, Megatronus. More than anything, I want to know that what I feel is love.”

Megatronus frowned into his energon. “Does it have to have a name?”

“You’re right. Primus, you’re so right.” Orion smiled. “I’ve never felt this before, you know.”

That was hard to believe, but Megatronus accepted it quietly. “Neither have I.”

They spent the rest of the night snuggled together on the couch, kissing and talking like there was nothing left in the world. Orion talked about his lack of a family, how he’d been left at an orphanage as a sparkling and had hid himself away between the frayed pages of abandoned books while the other children were adopted or sold. He told Megatronus that all he cared about were meals and stories, and when he was old enough to successfully sneak out, the Iacon Hall of Records was the only place he felt safe. 

“Someone reported me,” Orion said. He chuckled. “Alpha Trion was the one who found me then. I was hiding in his office. He’s the closest thing I’ve ever had to a family. A sire, really. He took care of me, gave me a place to stay, even tutored me.” Orion paused and shifted, splaying his servos over Megatronus’ scarred chassis. “I won’t ask you to tell me anything you don’t want to. I just thought—”

“You’re right,” Megatronus said. “We know so little of each other, how can we claim devotion?” He looked away from Orion’s concerned gaze. “I had assumed that your past was nothing like mine, but. . .” 

All he knew of his infancy was that he had been raised to toddlerhood in a brothel then shipped out to the farm as soon as he was strong enough to drag carts and carry tools. There, an elder took him under his wing. Old Grimsaw sheltered Megatronus as best as he could, but malnutrition and abuse were virtually impossible to stave off. Megatronus had been the youngest bot on the plantation and Grimsaw the oldest. Grimsaw saved half of his rations for Megatronus, and while he starved, Megatronus grew strong and healthy. He still couldn’t understand why Grimsaw put so much effort into raising him, and he’d do anything to go back and ask him. 

“Orion,” he said, “I would starve to feed you, and I will do everything in my power to make you happy.” It sounded lame when he said it, and he grimaced. “I mean—”

Orion cut him off with a sweet peck to the lips. “I know what you mean. I’d do the same for you, regardless of love or anything else.”

“Do you think,” Megatronus started, “that you’d change anything, if you had the chance?”

“I used to think I would. But we can’t change anything that’s already happened, you know that. Besides, even if I were miserable then, I’ve found my happiness now.” He leaned heavier against Megatronus and tucked his helm under the gladiator’s chin. “Would you?”

Megatronus laced his digits together over the small of Orion’s back. He focused on the smaller mech’s warmth and the weight of him. Grimsaw taught him how to survive in a world pitted against him, and proved that compassion existed even in the darkest of places. Megatronus wasn’t sure he’d have learned that if his life were different. On the other hand, if he’d been forced to fend entirely for himself, his slave life would have been easier. Maybe. Maybe then he wouldn’t have mimicked Grimsaw’s empathy. Maybe he wouldn’t have gone days without eating or have countless scars crisscrossing his back. But his extra suffering put food in others’ mouths and saved them from the whip, and that he wouldn’t dream of revoking. If it was at his expense, Megatronus would starve a thousand days if it meant giving life to someone else. 

“I wouldn’t,” he breathed. “But I will go back. They still need me.”

“ _ We _ will go back,” Orion corrected. He propped himself up on his elbows to look Megatronus in the eye. “You won’t be able to stand alone against the tide that’s coming. I promise you, with all my spark, that I will never let you fight alone.”

Megatronus’ spark swelled. “I promise I’ll always love you,” he rumbled. “And no harm will come to you.”

Orion smiled faintly. “You can’t promise that,” he whispered. 


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each break marks a different time, place, and scene for this chapter.

Megatronus had never seen anything like it. In the light of the moons, the crystal garden emanated such startling beauty and left him speechless. Even with Orion clinging to his arm, it felt like he existed outside of his body; as if his very soul was exposed, basking in the glow of the singing crystals. The pillars of shimmering mineral hummed softly, like a mumbling choir living in your helm. Orion tugged on his arm and together they weaved between crystals until they made it to the center of the cluster. They sat on the ground, leaning against one another and listening, content to exist in peace for the night.

Now, every time he returned to the arena, Megatronus encountered a writhing mass of devotees: nobles and average citizens alike. He acknowledged them as best as he could, nodding and grinning, but never touching. He refused to willingly touch anyone who believed the gladiator matches were a thrill or harmless entertainment. Although he needed them for exposure and the meagerest of incomes, they would never be his allies. 

Outside during the day, Megatronus and Orion couldn’t touch in fear of drawing too much negative attention. They already got dirty looks and had been refused service multiple times because of the “unruly mixing of castes.” Megatronus would have torn one mech apart if it weren’t for Orion pulling him away. 

When they were a safe distance away and hidden in an alley, Megatronus yanked away from Orion. “He called you a gladiator’s whore! My bitch! And you’re just going to pretend it didn’t happen?”

Orion carefully took Megatronus’ servos and held them close to his chassis. “I would rather ignore it than dwell on it,” he said. “Your spark is too big, you know that? I’ve been called worse things before.”

Megatronus huffed and looked away. “You deserve better than this.”

“There is nothing better than being with you,” Orion said. He lifted Megatronus’ servos and tenderly kissed each bruised knuckle as if he were the most delicate thing in the universe. 

There were only a handful of gladiators left for Megatronus and Soundwave to recruit. They met in secret, hidden between two cells full of hideous, wretched organics. These mechs and femmes were the heavy-hitters, as Soundwave called them. They were the highest ranked gladiators, the eldest, and the most long-reigning. Compared to them, Megatronus was only small game. And they made that clear themselves. At least they allowed Megatronus time to say his peace. Or, some of it. 

“If we band forces and liberate our people from the dredges of the caste system and the slavery, we can—”

“Can what?” Scorponok snarled. “You claim to understand us, but you know  _ nothing  _ of our lives. We have watched rebellions like yours crumble.”

Hydrau, the smallest of the three, glared Megatronus up and down. “And you know why? Because their leaders were all too weak. They didn’t have the spine to stick to their morals.”

“What makes you think I am weak?” Megatronus snapped. “I’ve seen failed attempts too, and I’ve defeated my own foes.”

Colossus scoffed down at him. “Have you? When have you ever taken a mech’s life outside the arena? Energon feels different on your servos when it’s spilled by and for yourself. You know nothing of revolution. You,” he spat, “are anything but a leader.”

Soundwave interrupted now to wedge himself between Megatronus and Colossus. “What must we do to earn your allegiance?” he asked. 

“Kill your master, slave.”

Orion never watched Megatronus’ fights. Instead, he witnessed the poorly patched aftermath of his frame and the tatters of his emotional stability. Nearly every night, after Megatronus sold his body, he crawled his way into the safe haven that was Orion, yearning for the only comfort he knew. On nights like these, Orion turned all the lights off and warmed up a bath for Megatronus. When he arrived, the facade he put on of the tough and unbothered mech crumbled and Orion had to help him stand. They stumbled to the bathroom, where Megatronus slipped into the tub and Orion sat on the floor, reading aloud from a banned poetry collection. When Megatronus finished cleaning —Orion usually had to gingerly take the scrubs away from him or else he’d start scratching away paint and armor alike— they settled in the living room, close but not touching. Megatronus’ nerves were too frayed after a night of forced submission to bear even the lightest of well-intentioned touch. The only thing he could stand was the mingling of EM fields. 

Orion hated to see Megatronus like this, completely debilitated by the ruthless treatment of mechs and femmes with the money to buy his submission. It was disgusting and humiliating for the both of them, but Orion knew what it was like to be used, and he wasn’t about to let Megatronus endure the aftereffects alone. 


	17. Chapter 17

Symbiosis. Was Megatronus so foolish to long for it? Was he greedy when he gasped for air he didn’t need? As singular, he imagined himself as dead weight, a sluggish corpse trailing behind the others and always faking confidence. But with Orion, it could be different. It would be. With Orion, he could ask questions and not be ridiculed for breaking down after a hellish day.  With Orion, Megatronus dared to imagine a peaceful future. 

Orion was the one who suggested it, and when he put on the puppy-dog eyes, there was nothing Megatronus could do but say yes. So they snuck into the Hall of Records. It was surprisingly easy since Orion already had keys and knew the password to all the alarms. Orion locked the doors behind them and they used nothing but his headlights to see. He took Megatronus’ servo and guided him through the aisles. 

It had been one thing to witness the thousands of books from afar, but it was another to be sandwiched between two towering shelves of them. Megatronus let his free servo trail along the spines of the books they passed and felt a thrilling tingle, like static in the nerves. Invigorating wasn’t the right word, nor was liberating, but Megatronus didn’t have time to debate a name for the sensation. Orion had led him to an outcrop among the aisles, where sofas and chairs filled the space. 

Orion dragged him over to a couch and pointed. “Sit there,” he whispered, “while I find us something to read.”

Megatronus did as he was told. He watched Orion and his light disappear into the jungle of literature, but he was comfortable in the dark, safely tucked in the heart of the record hall. He wished there was a skylight even though the sky he wanted to see wasn’t the city’s. If there was one thing he missed from rural Cybertron, it was the night sky; so full of other worlds and galaxies and hope. Hope pinned to a shooting star or a falling meteorite was so infinitesimal, but it was all that so many bots had. 

“Do you hear the rain?” Orion had returned and was leaning on a shelf, watching him. 

He hadn’t even realized, but now that he stopped thinking and listened, he could make out the faint patter of rain hitting the roof. “It sounds light,” he whispered. 

“It only sounds like that because of how high the ceiling is.” Orion grabbed an oil lamp from a nearby coffee table and set it at Megatronus’ pedes. He lit it with a match from his subspace and plopped onto the couch. As he turned off his headlights, he held out a small leather-bound book. 

Megatronus grazed his digits over the engrave cover. “What is it?” he asked.

Orion tucked his legs under him and nuzzled in as close as he could get to the other’s side. “A fantasy novel.” He smiled and the flickering light of the lamp cast its dancing shadows on his already stunning face. “I thought we could use something. . . wondrous.” 

“A bit of the fantastic wouldn’t hurt,” Megatronus said. He wrapped one arm around Orion’s slim waist and held open the book with his free hand. “In a world not unlike our own,” he started, “there was a being of great ambition. . .”

For hours they stayed like that, taking turns reading and joking about the habits of the characters. Orion especially fancied the organic fairy creatures who were always in the nude, and Megatronus preferred mocking the hideous trolls who captured the fairies and begged them to be beautiful. Outside, the rain evolved into an electrical storm, and Orion jumped whenever thunder rattled the building’s old bones. 

They were nearing the end of the novel and were so rapt that neither noticed when someone cleared their throat. Megatronus only noticed when the tall red mech said, “Excuse me.”

Orion was startled near out of his frame and clutched tight to Megatronus until his optics focused in on the figure. “Oh!” He jumped up while Megatronus stiffened. “Alpha Trion, sir, I—”

Alpha Trion glanced between them and smiled, although his optics hesitated on the hulking figure still on the sofa. The elderly mech didn’t appear phazed by the fierce tension and anxiety Megatronus was radiating; he didn’t even notice his collar, or at least he didn’t show that he had. 

Finally, the old bot rested a servo on Orion’s shoulder and said, “Do not fret, child. Who is this with you?”

Orion stepped back a couple of paces to rejoin Megatronus and help him stand. “This is. . . a dear friend of mine,” he said. “His name is Megatronus.”

Alpha Trion held out his servo. Megatronus hesitated before taking it. “Nice to meet you,” he managed to whisper. 

“Likewise.” The mech smiled again and released his servo. “Now, I do not mind that you are here, but please remember to reset the alarms and lock the doors when you leave.”

“Thank you, sir!” Orion chirped. 

“Thank you,” Megatronus said.

“Of course. Goodnight.” With that, the old bot disappeared into the throes of the library. 

“Well.” Orion sank back into the couch. “That wasn’t exactly the introduction I had in mind.” He chuckled and pulled Megatronus down so he was practically on top of him. 

“He seems nice.”

Orion twined his arms together around his gladiator’s middle and tugged him even closer so he could kiss his broad back. “He’s amazing, but you’re glorious,” he said.

Megatronus twisted in his hold. “Oh? And what is this? I meet your mentor and suddenly you’re all over me?”

Orion paused, now stark and serious. “I’ll stop if you don’t want it.”

“No, but. . .” He checked his internal chronometer. “Slag. I’m sorry, but I have to get back.”

“Oh.” Orion didn’t let go. He breathed deep and it was warm on Megatronus’ back. “I don’t want you there.”

“It won’t be much longer now,” Megatronus lied. 


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning for Rape and Non/Con Elements

Megatronus was still fresh from the arena when Spoil summoned him. He was covered in organic blood and guts, but that didn’t seem to bother anyone except him. 

“Ah, just the mech I wanted to see!” Spoil lifted a sparkling flute of engex when he entered. “Our champion!”

“Hello, sir. Is there something I can do for you?” Megatronus caught how Flint, in the corner, scowled. 

Spoil grinned and he never looked more grotesque. “ ‘Atta boy.” He swirled his engex and sipped it gingerly. “I’ve noticed you take to spending the nights out. Care to explain?”

Megatronus’ tanks twisted and his spark skipped a beat. “I wear the collar, sir, and—”

“That’s not what I asked,” his master snapped. “Where do you go?”

“I. . . I go to the bar, sir.”

Spoil tsked and crossed his spindly legs. “I have nothing against my gladiators engaging in relations outside of work. But,” he added, gaze fierce and fixed on Megatronus, “ _ nothing _ comes before this arena. Nothing. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good, because if you didn’t we would have had a problem.” He gave a tinny laugh and beckoned Megatronus closer. “I have a gift for you,” he said. “Sit.”

Megatronus grit his dentae but obediently situated himself on the very edge of a chair two sizes too small for him. He was all too aware of the grime covering him and now the fancy upholstery. Spoil whistled and from the same room used for whoring, came the two mute femmes. Megatronus’ tanks roiled and he bit back bile at the sight of them, arrays open and glistening, and their forced glee. 

Spoil took one of the femme’s servos and pulled her close. Tilting her chin up, he poured engex down her throat, then did the same to the other femme. “Now, my darlings,” he said, “you remember Megatronus, don’t you?” They nodded enthusiastically and giggled as they stole glances at him. “Good. Why don’t you go on over there and give him his reward?”

The femmes rubbed their thighs together and whined, shaking their afts in what was supposed to be an enticing manner. Spoil clearly found it entertaining because he snagged one of them and pulled her into his lap. 

Megatronus cleared his throat and leaned back when the other found her way into his. “Sir,” he croaked. 

“What’s the matter?” Spoil pushed the femme off him and she flocked to the larger slave. “They are your reward. You’ve done so well since I bought you, you deserve a break.”

“Please, sir, I can’t—”

“Are you refusing?” Spoil snapped, his optics dark and oily. He pushed out of his chair and stalked over. “No, no, no. You don’t  _ get  _ to refuse. Haven’t I made that clear enough? You will accept my generosity and you will enjoy it.”

Megatronus would have killed him right there if it weren’t for the guards. Each of them was armed with immobilizer rods and high-power blasters, and he had nothing but his bare hands. He thought of Orion and his promise and suddenly felt so achingly alone. 

“Of course, master,” he rumbled. Already, he was going numb, only faintly aware of his body. 

Spoil settled back into his seat and waved his servo. “Go on, then. Enjoy.”

Megatronus allowed the femmes to mouth at his jaw and his chest, both of them situated on his lap, and opened his cold spike panel. Spoil did an impressed whistle and the femmes groped at him. He knew his spike was pressurizing, but he felt no pleasure. All he could think of was how it felt to be with Orion Pax, and how he was betraying him. Even if he had no choice in this, it seemed worse than the usual nights. 

The femmes fingered each other atop of him and his face contorted, probably a grin, but he was too far gone to feel anything more than a punch to the gut when one of them dropped onto his spike. He gasped for air he didn’t need and somewhere in his head Spoil was laughing. His servos took hold of her tiny waist and forced her lower. She crooned but when her optics met Megatronus’ they held the same empty pain that mauled his spark. 

Maccadam’s was busier than usual, but Megatronus elbowed his way to a seat at the bar. Orion called him twice already, and both times he’d ignored it. He couldn’t bear to face him, not then, when all he wanted to do was rip gauges in the closest mech. So instead he drowned his inner turmoil in liquor. As long as he did that, no one else would get hurt. 

He was on his second round of shots when Orion tried again. Some silver flier was flicking its wings at him but that too he pretended not to notice. 

Five rounds in and he spilled engex all over the bar. Some mech shoved him and he shoved back. The stocky orange bartender kicked them both out. It was raining again. They brawled in the street until the other bot’s friends pulled them apart and dragged their buddy away. Megatronus sat on the curb, hunched over like a beggar, until closing time.

Someone clapped him on the shoulder and he just barely had the strength to look up. The bartender helped him up and back into the bar. The mech sat him down in a booth and gave him a rag to clean up. Apparently he’d been bleeding. 

“Thanks,” he muttered. 

The orange bot hummed and passed Megatronus a fresh energon cube. “What happened to you, kid?”

Megatronus snorted and cleaned his face off. 

“You can’t change the world like this,” the mech sighed. “You will do great things, Megatronus, but not like this.”

“How d'you know my name?”

“Call it intuition. Go to Orion; that mech is special, and he’s here for you.”

“Who’r you?” 

The mech went behind the bar and left Megatronus alone to simmer in his own mess. 

Orion answered on the first ring. “Megatronus? Where are you?” 

The panic in his voice made Megatronus feel even more guilty and sober. “I’m sorry, I—”

“Are you alright? You’re not hurt, are you?”

“No, I’m fine.” He sighed. “I feel sick, but I’m okay.”

Orion let out a breath of relief. “What happened?”

Megatronus paused. “It happened again,” he muttered. That was their code for the prostitution, but it didn’t feel like enough, so he added, “I hurt them.” It was still a sparse explanation, but that one detail wouldn’t leave him alone. The fact that he tore both femme’s valve lining and had been covered in their blood by the time they finished, echoed around in his skull. 

“Megatronus. . . Do you have time to come over?”

“No. I can’t. It doesn’t feel fair for me to be comforted.”

“You need to calm down,” Orion said. “Just come over.”

Megatronus shook his helm as if anyone was there to see. “I can’t. Not tonight.”


	19. Chapter 19

Soundwave was waiting in Megatronus’ room when he returned. He turned the lights on and the slender mech was just sitting there, helm leaned back and digits laced together over a knee. 

“What are you doing here?” Megatronus grumbled. He closed his door although they had a few minutes left before curfew and lights out. 

Soundwave stood and, although he was a full head shorter than Megatronus, he commanded attention. Megatronus had never felt the mech’s field engorged with as much fury and bitter hate than in that moment. It was so potent he backed away, but Soundwave was persistent and let his field lash about violently. 

“Soundwave, I—”

The slim mech closed his fists and opened them again. “Flint informed me that you assaulted the twins.” Megatronus’ tense shoulders sagged and he turned away to avoid Soundwave’s vehement gaze. Even with his visor engaged, it couldn’t dilute his intensity. 

“I had no choice,” Megatronus said. Every time he pretended like it couldn’t be helped, the more hatred bled into his spark. 

Soundwave huffed. “What you preach of morals is trampled beneath your own hypocrisy. Have we not waited long enough to change that?”

Megatronus thought of Spoil, laughing and masturbating while he hurt the femmes and a new fire lit under him. The root of all his darkness had sat right in front of him, in a metaphoric sense. This slavery and degradation that stripped away his autonomy and fueled his need for a change, fueled his rage and his desperation. He squared his shoulders and lifted his helm. “You’re right, my friend. Enough hiding. Enough complacency. It is time to act.” He thought for a moment, considering how to go about this. All he knew of revolution was hypotheticals and failed attempts; How could he combine them to create something victorious? “Call Flint down, we need to plan.”

Soundwave shook his helm. “Curfew is in five minutes. There isn’t sufficient time to—”

“Then we rest.” Megatronus clasped a servo on Soundwave’s shoulder. “Get word out to as many bots as you can before comms are disabled for the night. Tell them to arm up and meet at the doors to the arena after my opening fight.”

The lithe mech nodded and immediately started composing a message to send out en masse. He’d managed to set up communication links with the majority of the gladiators and even some guards without attracting attention to himself and right now that was their most valuable asset. 

In the hall, a guard called the two minute warning. Soundwave headed for the door. “I hope you are ready, Megatronus.”

Long after the doors were locked and the lights turned out, Megatronus was still awake, hunched over on his berth, mulling over his infant of a plan. As soon as comms were back up, he would call Orion and explain everything, or at the very least ask for forgiveness. Then he would fight and rile the crowd up. Any allies would be waiting when he got out, and together they’d fight free of the Pits. He still wasn’t sure where they would go once they were free, but he knew that the tracking collars had to be removed. If only Orion were there, he could have helped make a more concise plan. 

Megatronus raked his mind over and over until he remembered the biography that he and Orion had read together when they first met. In the old Prime’s recollection of the First war, refugees went into hiding underneath Kaon. Scours of tunnels ran below the city and all across Cybertron. Legend claimed them as the veins of the Well of Allsparks, but since the war of the Primes they laid, barren, forgotten, and scrubbed from all public literature. But that also meant that no one knew how to reach them. And that left Megatronus back at square one. Without somewhere to hide, it was only a matter of time before his group was found.

Orion picked up on the first ring. “Megatronus?”

Megatronus was bent over his bed while Soundwave guarded the door, and it was all he could do to whisper. “Orion,” he started, “Orion it’s happening. Today, we’re going to change the world.”

“What? How? We haven’t planned anything, it’s all too flimsy, you—”

“I know, and I wish we had more time, but I can’t sacrifice my people in turn for time. Not anymore. It’s gone too far, and I’m done.” He glanced up at Soundwave, who was clearly trying to ignore him. “I don’t know when I’ll see you again, so—”

“No!” Orion’s voice cracked, his nerves getting the best of him. “No. Where will you go when you’ve broken everyone out?”

“Under the city.”

“The tunnels? No one knows—”

“I know, but we’ll find one.”

“That’s not good enough!” He took a deep breath. “How many mechs are there?”

“Dozens.”

“We need more time—”

“Enough,” Megatronus barked. “We don’t have more time, okay, but I’ll figure something out.”

“Primus. . . please be careful. I don’t know what else I can do but beg you to come back to me.”

Megatronus imagined Orion pacing his cluttered flat and his spark broke. “I’m sorry, but I will explain everything later. For now, all I can say is that there are some things you just can’t understand, but I love you and we  _ will  _ see each other soon.”

Orion didn’t answer for a second. Then he said, “I will work from here. I’ll find you those tunnels.”

Soundwave was waving a servo, urging him to hurry it up. “Almost time,” he whispered. 

Megatronus stood and joined him at the door. “I have to go,” he told Orion.

“Be safe. I love you.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pls note that Cybertron's layout is confusing af (at least for me) so please bear with me when I mention distances between cities and all that. Thanks for reading!

“Something is wrong,” Soundwave said, “I cannot reach Flint.”

Megatronus marched the halls with purpose and Soundwave slunk along beside him. Nearly every mech they passed watched them with cautious reverence. 

“We won’t have time to find her after the fight,” Megatronus said. Out of the corner of his optics, he briefly witnessed a guard slipping blasters to a low ranked gladiator. “How many of the guards are on our side?” he asked. 

“Hard to tell. Are you ready?”

They rounded a corner and the door to the arena came into sight. It was already crowded with armed mechs, but the guards present only eyed them warily. 

“What are they doing?” Megatronus hissed. “Get them to disperse. They’ll draw too much attention before time. If a single loyal guard sees this and alerts the nobles, we’re done.”

Soundwave silently slipped into the crowd. While he scattered the jittery slaves, Megatronus spotted the heavy-hitter Hydrau who waved him over. 

“Quite the crowd you’ve got here,” the mech said. He looked Megatronus up and down and grinned. From his back he detached a menacing piece of tech. He held it out with both servos and Megatronus stared in bewilderment. “Take it,” Hydrau said. “Consider it a gift. I’ve been sitting on it for a couple decades, waiting for someone like you.”

Megatronus took the weapon and turned it over in his servos. It was longer than his forearm and mostly cylindrical, but clearly a gun of sorts. “Thank you,” he said. “But are you sure it wouldn’t be better fitted to you?”

“What could I do? No one likes me.” Hydrau snorted. “Besides, every leader needs a world-class weapon.”

“What changed your mind?” Megatronus headed for the slowly opening doors of the arena. Most of the crowd had disappeared and he and Hydrau were the only two caught in the broadening sliver of light that the opening doors let in. 

“A gut feeling.” Hydrau helped him mount the fusion cannon on his arm. “If you’re going to do this, do it right. Show those pigs what a  _ real  _ uproar looks like.”

The ecstatic cries from the stadium reached them and Megatronus basked briefly in the warmth from the sun before he stalked out into the open. The announcer’s voice was practically drowned out by the fans’ hollering and Megatronus had no idea who or what he was fighting until the gates on the opposite end of the arena lifted and out stumbled a friend. Flint had clearly taken a beating once already. She limped to the center of the dirt oval where Megatronus had yet to move an inch. The armor on her arms and midsection was warped and scuffed and she had no codpiece. She was covered in dried energon and one of her optics was grey and blind. Yet she raised her fists and squared up to him. 

“Fight me,” she rasped. 

Megatronus dodged her attempt at a right hook. “What did he do to you?”

She made to grab his throat but he brushed her servos away like they were dust. “I tried to kill him, after the twins. . .” She punched him in the gut but it was barely a tickle. “He just left them on the street.”

The crowd started booing. 

Megatronus fumed. He pivoted them so that he could see Spoil’s viewing box while he pretended to fight Flint. “Did you tell him?”

“Who do you think I am,” she snapped. Her ferocity dissipated when she suddenly keeled over and purged energon all over their pedes. 

The thin line Megatronus was balancing on snapped. He pulled Flint in and sheltered her against his chassis, lifted his new fusion cannon, and fired directly into Spoil’s viewing box. The glass shattered and the crowd screamed, but the doors to the arena opened and Megatronus ushered Flint in as every noble’s personal bodyguards opened fire. The shots missed them by a hair and the doors were slammed shut behind them and they were met with a sea of anxious faces. 

Soundwave was right there at the forefront of them all. “We are ready, Megatronus.”

Megatronus passed Flint off to another femme. He raised his still warm cannon over his helm and shouted, “Brothers, sisters, today we end the tyranny! Today, we break free!” A chorus of cheers sounded back. “Shoot off your trackers and collars and split into two groups. Soundwave will lead one through the south side and the rest of you follow me!  _ No one _ will get in our way!”

Soundwave broke off and half of the gladiators rambled after him, wielding hope and blasters. Megatronus beckoned to the remaining mechs and started off down the north halls. Both groups were avoiding the main entrance, and were instead going to use the delivery bays to escape. Usually organics and supplies were dropped off from huge trucks, but there was always minimal security there. 

Every security crew they did encounter was shot down and trampled like bugs, and Megatronus’ spark throbbed with every drop of spilt energon. His group burst free of the Pits and into the backside of Kaon. They didn’t falter but surged onward, weaving through the alleys and shadowy dredges of the city for hours. Police patrols passed on the main roads, sirens blaring, and they clung to the shadows like they were a lifeline. The last place anyone would check, was the only spot they stopped to rest. Megatronus posted a lookout on each corner for a three block stretch. The rest of the group huddled together, wedged between the backside of the Hall of Records and the dumpsters behind it. 

“Where do we go now?” someone asked.

Megatronus shook his helm and peeked around the corner. “We wait for Soundwave and the others before we do anything else.” He was panting and his spark beat echoed in his own audials. The adrenaline from the initial break out was wearing off and panic setting in, and he could see the same shift in his companions’ expressions. 

Another mech husked, “But if they find us—”

“We are safe, for now. No one will expect us here and we stayed well out of the way of street cameras and witnesses. Just a little longer,” he said, but inside his tanks were roiling. If Soundwave didn’t get there soon, it meant he’d hit a bump, and if Orion didn’t come through. . .

“Someone’s coming!” It was a comm from the mech posted across the street from the Hall. “What do I do?”

Megatronus bolted to his pedes. “What do they look like?”

“Um, they’re small. Blue and red. Should I take ‘em out?”

“No! Let him come around. He’s a friend.” Megatronus creeped out from his group and sure enough, around the corner came trusty little Orion Pax. 

Orion rushed to him and threw his arms around his neck. “Oh Primus, are you alright?”

Megatronus seized Orion by the shoulders. “I’m fine. You were supposed to call when you found it, now you’ve put yourself in danger! If you’re seen here, you’ll be just as much of a target as the rest of us!”

“I was  _ careful _ , unlike you,” Orion snapped. He cycled a slow invent to calm himself down. “You won’t believe where the entrance is.” He walked around the dumpsters, only barely glancing at the group stationed there. He went over to the backdoor and unlocked it. “You’re on top of one right now,” he said. 

Just as Orion started to explain how they’d get down to the tunnel entrance, Soundwave and his group appeared, looking battered and exhausted. Megatronus waved everyone in and Orion disappeared ahead of the mass of refugees. Once the last of the big cluster was in, he called back the lookouts and waited for them to slink inside before he brought up the rear.


End file.
